In the fall of 1914,
Robert Bruce travelled the National Road and recorded his
experiences in a work published by the National Highways
Association in 1916. The portion of his "travel" log
covering Allegany County will be presented here.

Also included at the
end of the detail maps page referred to below as page 29, is a
map prepared by Jerry Twigg, which pinpoints the location of
various taverns, inns and wagon stops in Eastern Allegany County.

TRAVELING
THE MOUNTAIN ROADS

While the highway from west of Hancock to
Cumberland is one of the most winding of its length in the United
States, there is absolutely no chance to lose the way, and the
most should be made of the opportunity for viewing the scenery.
As shown by the detail
maps on page 29, many of the
various upgrades and downgrades are quite long and steep; but the
curves are mostly wide and the surface fair to good throughout.
With the car in good condition, and carefully driven, there is no
danger, though one should not stop on the curves to view the
scenery; and it is well also to keep on the lookout for vehicles
approaching from the opposite direction.

Specific description of the different
ranges crossed would be difficult at best; and the detailed maps
show the roadway over them more graphically than text could
possibly do; so the following paragraphs are purposely condensed.
The next range west of Tonoloway, and the second one beyond
Hancock, is known as Sideling Hill, which reaches an elevation of
1,633 feet just before the principal curve on the summit. From
this point several wonderful views are to be had, not only
eastward across the valley or vast ravine between the two ridges,
but also westward over an apparently endless extension of
mountains, through which Sideling Hill Creek winds its way to the
now more-distant Potomac.

Higher elevations than this will be found
on some of the ridges farther west; but nowhere else on the trip
between Baltimore and Wheeling is there an ascent of 760 feet in
a mile and a half, as on the eastern slope of Sideling Hill, or a
descent of 495 feet in a single mile, as on its western slope.
The latter, which starts along a ledge just beyond the summit,
should be coasted (if at all), with the brake on lightly, not
only on account of the grade, but especially to prepare for the
very sharp left curve-almost a "horseshoe"-at the foot.
While a machine beyond control would probably be wrecked on that
curve, it presents no danger to the experienced driver who knows
about it in advance. Naturally, however, the first-time traveler
will experience a sense of relief at being on the easier grades
between Sideling Hill and the next range.

Thomas Cresap, the western Maryland pioneer
and afterward a member of the Ohio Company, is said to have paid
an Indian £25 for widening the original path over this hill, so
that white men and wagons could negotiate it. That was a
considerable amount in those days, and may give some idea of the
work involved in the original clearing. In Fry & Jefferson's
map (1755) will be found the name "Side Long Hill,"
from which the present Sideling Hill undoubtedly came.

Even after this long descent, the downgrade
continues about a mile to Bear Creek, which is crossed by a stone
bridge, followed by a sharp left curve to the iron bridge across
Sideling Hill Creek, just beyond. From occasional points of
vantage on the west side of the creek, in favorable weather the
tourist may look back across the intervening valley, and see the
summit of Sideling Hill, even tracing thereon some of the
windings of the road passed over only a few minutes ago. Such
view is likely to impress one with the courage, as well as the
high engineering skill required to project and construct a
throughfare like this across so great a natural barrier between
the Atlantic seaboard and the Ohio River.

THROUGH
ROUGH, SPARSELY SETTLED COUNTRY

Except for an occasional very small
settlement and an infrequent lonely schoolhouse, this is
practically an uninhabited section--wild and beautiful beyond
anticipation, and with a most clear, bracing atmosphere. The
Western Maryland and Baltimore & Ohio Railroads are now far
to the south; and the only connection of the few inhabitants with
the outside world is by means of this old road, which under the
circumstances is kept up wonderfully well. It seems quite safe to
estimate that there may be more bridges than people from the
western edge of Hancock to the eastern edge of Flintstone.

Even in the midst of these mountains,
whenever the nature of the country admits, the road straightens
out for considerable distances, affording the experience of
running along comparative levels for a half mile or mile, yielded
only when it is necessary to make an ascent or descent. Between
Sideling Hill Creek and the next ridge -Town Hill- there is a
great deal of primitive woodland, and much scrub growth; for part
of the way, also, the road is through red clay and shale. On the
left, near a small bridge and just before a left-handed road, in
the midst of this wild section, is a rough unpainted wood
building, with a home-made sign, "Meals and Lodging";
ordinarily it is not very attractive to the motor tourist, but
might be useful in case of a breakdown in that locality. There is
also a lodging house and country store at Piney Grove, a mile or
so beyond.

Now the road begins the long, winding
ascent of Town Hill which, though it reaches a height a trifle
greater than Sideling Hill, is much more easily crossed; from the
summit there are the usual fine views, then a long winding
descent, with a sharp right curve part-way down. The valley
between Town Hill and the next range- Green Ridge- is quite
narrow; at the foot the road crosses Piney Ridge Run, a small
stream, then starts almost at once up the eastern slope of Green
Ridge. This is crossed at an elevation of only about 1,200 feet;
then one descends a winding road, where careful driving is
necessary for a sharp right- and a particularly sharp left curve.
On the western slope of this range is a wonderful apple orchard
of about 50,000 trees under scientific cultivation.

GREEN
RIDGE to FLINTSTONE

There shortly opens up--across the valley
of Fifteen-Mile Creek--one of the most entrancing views on the
entire route. In front, above and below, is a great ravine,
extending as far as the eye can see; straight across to the west
are the foothills of Ragged Mountain and Polish Mountain. Care
should be taken for a sharp right and then a sharp left curve
made by the old road in its rather abrupt descent through very
wild country to Fifteen-Mile Creek; this is crossed on an iron
bridge, the road just beyond passing over some shorter hills onto
a surprisingly long, level stretch, past a saw-mill on the left.
The sawmill is at least a sign of human activity so little
evident on this part of the route.

Postcard contributed by Norman
Collier

At about the end of this level stretch one
passes, on the right, what remains of an old tavern (given as
"Pratt" on the U. S. Geological map, but no town), and
begins the ascent of Polish Mountain, the eastern face of which
is quite even and the grade moderate. But after crossing this
summit (1,372 feet elevation), the descent is shorter and more
abrupt, with a number of turns which should be taken with care;
the surface, however, was almost perfect in the fall of 1914, and
the views easily comparable with the best of those already had.
The leisurely tourist leaving Baltimore in the morning, lunching
at Hagerstown and probably intending to run into Cumberland for
the night, is likely to be traveling over this portion of the old
road in the late afternoon; if the sun is setting bright and
strong, the view of its rays coming over the amphitheater of
mountains in the western horizon is beautiful beyond description.

Caution is particularly necessary in making
a very sharp right turn over a stone culvert spanning a small
stream about two-thirds of the way down the western slope of
Polish Mountain; then the road is straight ahead, across Town
Creek and past the little hamlet of Gilpin toward the ancient but
very interesting village of Flintstone, which is what might be
called the eastern outpost of Cumberland. A glance ahead before
reaching the town will show a deep but very narrow gap between
Warrior's Mountain on the left, and Iron Ore Ridge on the right,
with Flintstone Creek flowing peacefully and quietly through.
This is known as Warriors' Gap from the fact that the Indian
path, of which there are still traces on the tops of both ridges,
here descended to the level of the present road.

In his celebrated "Journals,"
already quoted, Christopher Gist mentions Warriors' Gap and
Flintstone as being "on the way from the Potomac into
Pennsylvania," which proves them to be very old names,
antedating the settlement of this region by the white men. Both
are shown on the map of Western Pennsylvania and Virginia
published in 1755, no doubt largely on the basis of Gist's notes.
"Flintstone" was undoubtedly named from the
flint-stones of the Indians, though confirmation of that point
might be difficult to obtain at this late date.

Flintstone Hotel (aka
the Piper House)

So far on this trip from Baltimore and
Hagerstown, the old taverns and road houses are not as frequent
and conspicuous as they will be found from Cumberland through
Uniontown to Wheeling; probably a larger percentage of them have
been torn down or altered. But on the righthand side of the road,
just before the bridge at Flintstone, stands the Flintstone
Hotel, known as the Piper House in stage-coach days, still
catering in a very modest way to road travel. It was constructed
by the contractor who built that section of the road.

OVERNIGHT
AMID PRIMITIVE SURROUNDINGS

Making this run in the late fall of 1914,
the writer found that it would be difficult to reach Cumberland
on account of the growing darkness; and, in the mood of taking a
chance, stopped in front of the Flintstone hotel to ask if
overnight accommodations could be had for three. The proprietor,
Dr. A. T. Twigg, replied. "Yes, so far as we have
them." Deciding to stop, the car was put up, probably in the
identical shed that sheltered many a stage-coach and freight
wagon, and we were taken into what was the bar-room of the hotel
in the palmy days, now the doctor's office, where a warm fire
quickly dispelled the chill from the last twenty miles or so over
the mountain roads. A few minutes later we were sitting down to
such a good old-fashioned supper as tradition says this tavern
served a century ago; there, was no "grace" said at
this first meal--an incident unthought of then, but subsequently
recalled.

It being Sunday, upon invitation and
falling in thoroughly with the custom of the place, we all
attended services at the church on the side of the road which
branches left near the bridge over the creek, guided safety there
and back by a lantern in the hand of Dr. Twigg--for neither
electricity nor gas can be found at Flintstone. Probably few of
our friends would have recognized us in that procession. It was
like taking a leaf out of the past to listen to a genuine
old-fashioned sermon, and to such hymns as were sung in rural New
York State and New England forty, fifty or more years ago. At
least one of us instinctively found himself recalling the
almost-forgotten words, and making a feeble attempt to join in
with the tune.

Returning to the tavern, we were
shown into the living-room of the family, and while
making away with some fine apples, listened to bits of
interesting history, impossible to mention here. Growing
semi-confidential, Dr. Twigg let us know that he was the
only physician in that vicinity, had been there 27 years,
and up to that time had assisted into the world 1,762
little citizens of Flintstone and its
neighborhood--several times as many as reside there at
the present time, for the great temptation, especially to
young people, is to leave their homes in this beautiful
mountain region, to be lost in the industrial maelstrom
outside. Probably by the time this article appears in
print, the number "1,762," mentioned by the
good doctor, who seems to be absolutely sure of the exact
count, has been materially increased.

Dr. Alvin Twigg
1860-1944

Being shown to our rooms by the proprietor,
who had almost to be restrained by force from carrying all of our
heavy baggage upstairs, after the custom of the old-time tavern
keeper, we found the rooms surprisingly large and spacious-- at
least three times the size of those in the average modern hotel.
Steam heat and running water were conspicuously absent; but after
throwing open the windows to admit an unlimited amount of the
clear, cool mountain air, we dropped into a sound and wonderfully
refreshing sleep, broken only by the call to prepare for
breakfast. At that meal, we discovered that the minister boarded
at the hotel; he was now with us, and of course, we all bowed our
heads for "grace before meat." The minister was one of
those extremely serious young men we sometimes meet; and a member
of the party "started something" by praising the sermon
of the evening before.

Gradually, the conversation broadened to
touch upon the subject of law and order in the mountain villages;
and it came out that Flintstone was a local option village, with
nothing in the way of strong drink to be had nearer than
Cumberland. "Then," it was ventured, "everything
must be quiet and orderly." "It would be," replied
the minister, "except that we have no Justice-of-tbe-Peace
nearer than Cumberland, though if it were easier to get out a
warrant, we could stop some of what goes on," "What
might that be?" was inquired. "Well," replied the
minister, with added seriousness, "some of our people here
once in a while forget themselves, and go swearing up and down
the pike." We thought if that was all the wrong-doing at
Flintstone, it must be quite a model mountain village; and at the
same time wondered if some such circumstance as this might not
have originated the phrase "up" or "down the
pike."

One who desires to catch something of the
spirit of the ancient highway would do well to stop at
Flintstone, and at some of the taverns on the next section of the
route, taking note of the unpretentious but very comfortable
arrangements for old-time travelers; and if possible talk with
older residents, many of whom personally, remember the era of the
stage-coach. In the palmy days of the old road, many famous
people stopped at the Piper House, among them Henry Clay, one of
the ablest champions of the project to build the
Cumberland-Wheeling section across the mountains. In fact, the
tourist who wishes to sleep in Henry Clay's room may do so,
though the statesman's initials once carved over the door have
disappeared.

LAST
STRETCH INTO CUMBERLAND

At Flintstone the old pike is about 12
air-line miles from the Potomac River and the two railroads that
closely parallel it in the vicinity of Old Town, the spot where
Thomas Cresap, the earliest permanent settler in Western
Maryland, built a home in 1742 or '43. The little village here in
the mountains owes its very existence to the highway, even mail
from points cast being carried into Cumberland and brought out by
motor stage. But from now on the pike, the river and the
railroads gradually draw together, until they meet in the city of
Cumberland. Leave Flintstone nearly due west from the stone
bridge at the village center, over a fine level stretch of
somewhat more than two miles to a large stone house on the right,
marking the intersection of the old Hancock Road (or trail)
before the present highway was built.

Immediately beyond the stone house begins
the winding ascent of Martin Mountain, the road rising 535 feet
in a trifle over a mile; there are several curves, though none as
sharp as those on Sideling Hill, and the surface is excellent
throughout. Over to the left on the way up, one catches specially
fine views of minor ridges and valleys, with suggestions of very
small villages in the distance. Just beyond the summit (1,720
feet elevation), there is a comparatively level stretch, followed
by an easy descent of the western face by long stretches of state
highway. If as is quite likely, the motorist descending any of
these ranges happens to meet a strong four-horse team hauling up
a load of lumber, coal or other heavy materials, he will better
appreciate the grades than being carried over them in a motor
car.

At about the foot of Martin Mountain our
road touches the lower edge of Pleasant Valley passing on the
right "Clover Hill Farm," a well-kept place with a fine
house and large barn. There are no more steep grades on this
section of the trip, as the pike shortly comes along a Small
Stream which is followed ' with several crossings, to the small
iron bridge over Evitt's Creek, at what was Folck's Mill, now
Wolfe Mill, as shown on the detail maps page 29.
During the Civil War a skirmish took place at this point, and one
Confederate was killed. The old brick and stone mill just north
of this bridge still shows the holes made by Union cannon balls
fired from one of the hilltops nearer Cumberland; and the large
brick dwelling, still to be seen a short distance farther on, at
the junction of the Baltimore Pike and the cross-over to the
Bedford Road, was also struck and considerably damaged.

Just beyond, there is a "parting of
the ways" for the balance of the trip into Cumberland, both
shown graphically by the detail maps, page 29.
In the fall of 1914, the better route was by the first right-turn
beyond the small iron bridge, directly across by an excellent
road, cut in part through a hillside, to its end at the Bedford
Road. By taking this route and making a left-turn in front of a
stone farmhouse, the tourist can follow Bedford Street, mostly
brick pavement, straight ahead across the B. & 0. R. R.
(grade, dangerous) to the business center of Cumberland, at
Center Street, near the city hall and post office.

The old pike makes no turn beyond Evitt's
Creek, but is direct past the turn-off for the Bedford Road;
though not in as good condition throughout, it is at least a mile
shorter and, of course, was the route followed by the stage-coach
and freight wagon of long ago. In the not-distant future, it will
probably be made at least as good as the Bedford Street entrance.
Following the old road, one curves around the edge of a minor
mountain at the outer edge of the city, passing a cemetery on the
right, to begin at once a rather long steady descent, from which
a good view is had of industrial Cumberland. From the same point
of vantage, the tourist also realizes why this busy little city
in Western Maryland is literally the "Key of the
Mountains"; sometimes it might almost seem impossible to go
in or come out of it by any means except through the air.

But gradually one catches a glimpse of the
wide-sweeping Potomac, pursuing its peaceful course between the
frowning hills of Maryland and West Virginia; and after a brief
but closer study of the topography, Cumberland is seen to be
literally a hub of transportation by road and rail, as well as
the western terminus of the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal, still a
factor in the world's business life. It is also the usual night
stop for a one-day trip west from Baltimore or east from
Wheeling, being approximately half way from each. Hotel and
garage accommodations are fair but not elaborate; the people are
generally very courteous and accommodating to strangers. That
city and its unique historic interests, and especially the choice
of roads for the next few miles west, will be referred to at
greater length in the next chapter.